Hi lovelies I know this isn’t related to anything really but I need some opinions on my writing. Thank you in advance for just taking your time to read this, it’s much appreciated 💖

The man in the moon

The moon has always been a significant symbol in my life. Ever since I was a little girl, somewhere between 3 and 4, I knew that there was a deeper meaning behind it. My grandad and I would always looks up at the night sky. He would point at the moon and ask, “ do you see him? Do you see the man in the moon?” And of course, me being a child, I would get excited and ecstatically say yes; although I never actually did. Despite never seeing the man in the moon, I never stopped searching, in hopes of actually seeing him one day. Years passed and I would still look at the moon every night that I could, hoping the man would show himself.

Whenever my father was put on a ship surrounded by water and no visible land, he would tell me, “ I know it may seem that I am far away, but look up at the moon. Whenever you do, I want you to know that I am somewhere looking up at the same one so we’re really not as far apart as it seems.” I held on to what he said as tight as my grip would let me. I then always associated my father with the very meaningful moon that I saw every night that it was visible, yet not thinking of the strange possibility where these two meanings of the moon to me, would meet.

More years passed, eventually reaching seventeen, and I still never stopped searching for the man in the moon. I just knew he was there somewhere, waiting for the perfect time to reveal himself to me. As I got older though, it did become more difficult to believe in something that seemed to be a silly child’s dream.

The last time I heard the words my father had always said was when I was sitting in a chair, front row, outside at a veterans cemetery. Those words didn’t come out of my fathers mouth this time. Instead, a man whom I’d never met before, standing at a podium with a bible on one side of the stand and piece of paper in front of him, talking about my fathers life. His life accomplishments were stated, gun shots fired, a flag was folded and handed to my brother who then handed it to me.

Later that night, I was sitting outside looking at the full moon and the branch of a tree overlaying half of it. After seventeen years of searching for the man in the moon, I finally found him. The man in the moon had revealed himself to me. Yeah, maybe my eyes were playing tricks on me, but what I saw was as vivid as a picture. That picture being one of my father. All those years it had never occurred to me that maybe the man in the moon had always been there, just not in the place I depicted him to be. He was never on the moon, just under it. He moved on from this life to the peaceful place he belonged, surrounded by stars and no visible land. That night, when I finally saw the man in the moon, I not only saw him. I knew him.

Writers